Almost all. Khollo and Ondus had paused at the center of town, where a well sprang up from the center of the road. A bucket on a rope stood on the edge of the well, and beside the well sat a blind old man wrapped in gray rags. He turned milky white eyes on Khollo as he dismounted, groaning softly.
“Anythin’ fer a poor old beggar, sirs?” he called.
Ondus sighed heavily and busied himself adjusting Fanne’s saddle. “We can’t stay long,” he murmured to Khollo. “We need to head back soon. Stretch your legs for a bit if you must, then mount up again.”
Khollo nodded. “Is there any way we can help him?” he asked, gesturing to the blind man.
Ondus shook his head sadly. “Blind as he is, any help we give him will only prolong his agony.”
Khollo looked over at the pitiful figure, who was now turning side to side, trying to identify where the newcomers had gone. Slowly, Khollo walked over to him, feet crunching in the snow.
“Coins?” the old man asked, hearing Khollo approach. “Have you come to help me?”
Khollo knelt in front of him. “I have no money,” he informed the man. “But if there are other ways I can help, just ask.”
The old man shrugged. “Ah, everythin’ costs money around here. Kindness won’t buy nothin’.” He turned his blind eyes towards Khollo, frowning. “Yer a differen’ sort of person. Not many would stop to help someone like me.”
Khollo shrugged and peered into the well. The water below was unfrozen, but black in the darkness. “Would you like a drink?”
“That’ll only freeze my poor old bones faster,” the blind man grumbled. “If you don’ have money, ye might as well move on.”
“What would you use money for?”
The blind man thought. “Don’ rightly know,” he admitted. “I can’t do much of anything, blind as I am.”
“How were you blinded?” Khollo asked.
“The war, oh years an’ years ago it was,” the old man rasped, his voice growing weak. “Musta been thirty, forty years. One of them damned Sthan swordsmen took me eyes. In those days I was strong, proud. Aye, I had a horse, a fine one. And a spear, magnificent weapon.” His eyes slid away from Khollo, lost in memory. “I had a son,” he whispered. “But he’s gone now. A few weeks ago. He was takin’ care of me, then he left, promising to return. Never did.”
“I’m sorry,” Khollo said quietly.
“ ’Taint your fault,” the old man said. “He’d found a job. Somebody passing through town recruited him for some trip or other. Away south of here. Promised him gold, a lot of it. He said he’d earn enough to set us for life. Never happened though, did it?” The old man cackled. “All I’ve left to do is to die. That’s easy enough, I suppose. Born in this village, buried in this village. Not the same as it used to be though. Will you stay?”
“I have to go,” Khollo replied, shaking his head. “We’re just passing through.”
“Nobody never stays anymore,” the blind man grumbled, turning back towards the sound of Khollo’s voice. “Just passin’ through. Don’ blame ‘em. I unnerstand, really. Used to travel all over in my younger days. Especially the Fells. I loved those mountains. Would’ve liked to see ‘em, one last time.”
“What did you like about them?” Khollo asked, intrigued.
“I found things there, old things. Ancient fortresses, cut straight outta the rock. Never unnerstood what they were, where they came from. But they’ll still be there, I wager.”
“How big were these dwellings?” Khollo asked.
“Large enough fer thousands of people one was,” the blind man replied. “All stone they was. Sinister lookin’. The larges’ was in a valley, protected by a lake. Never got to explore that one,” he finished wistfully.
Khollo stepped back, deeply disturbed. Huge fortresses in the mountains? How could those have never been found? Did the Sthan Kings never explore what they conquered or take time to understand it?
“Thank you,” Khollo said slowly. “Thank you very much.”
The blind man muttered something nearly incomprehensible. “What was that?” Khollo asked.
“Just like my vision,” the blind man murmured. “Rode in and offered a drink for knowledge . . . and I saw a fortress. But what did the scales mean, then? Armor?”
Khollo turned to leave, but a claw-like hand shot out and grabbed his leg, nearly tripping him.
“Hey!”
“Find them!” the old man hissed. “Those fortresses are important to your kind. Ancient history, older than the first horse lords. Your kind.”
“Do you mean Sthan or – ”
“Your kind,” the old man grunted, slumping forwards. The hand relaxed around his ankle and he realized that the old man was dead.
Khollo stepped back, shaken.
“What happened?”
Khollo jumped. Ondus was standing just behind him. “He’s dead,” Khollo managed. “We were talking and he just keeled over, and all the life went out of him.”
“Did he say anything interesting?”
“Something about horse lords,” Khollo muttered. “An old war, a fortress in the Fells. And something about the history of the Sthan
